


talk to me, baby

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, Hockey Curses, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:16:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: It hits Sid first, because of course it does. He’d been talking with Phil, discussing their first power play unit, when he gets distracted by Geno’s ass in spandex.“I don’t know why everyone’s always going on and on about my ass, when you’re around. Fuck, man. It’s fucking incredible.”“Whose ass, now?” Tanger shrieks gleefully and Sid realizes with a dawning horror that—“Did I say that… out loud?”





	talk to me, baby

                                   

 

 

It hits Sid first, because of course it does.

It’s after practice. The room is cheerfully noisy: music playing, people shouting, tussling, and throwing wadded balls of sock tape at the trash can with worrisome inaccuracy.

This is Sid’s element, where he’s happiest. Surrounded by team and noise and energy.

He’d been talking with Phil, discussing their first power play unit, when Phil gets distracted by what Hags is going on about a couple of stalls down, and Sid gets distracted by Geno’s ass in spandex.

This has been a common problem over the years. Sid makes a point of being professional and not ogling his teammates, but he’s only human and has been in love with Geno for so fucking long. And. Well. Geno has an incredible ass.

“I don’t know why everyone’s always going on and on about my ass, when you’re around. Fuck, man. It’s fucking incredible.”

“ _Whose_ ass, now?” Tanger shrieks gleefully, and Sid’s attention snaps away from Geno’s butt to gape at Tanger.

“He was staring at Geno,” Phil says helpfully, and Sid realizes with a dawning horror that—

“Did I say that… out loud?”

“Yup,” Phil says, and Sid feels sick. The guys are all laughing though, and treating it like a hilarious joke. He doesn’t want to look at Geno, but he makes himself. Geno is red as a tomato and is yanking on a shirt like there’s a fire.

“G?” Sid says, and something in his voice must make Geno turn around. “I’m really sorry, I have no idea why I said that.”

But Geno won’t look at him, only shuffles awkwardly and mumbles something about it not being a big deal before he flees.

“Oh shit,” Sid says, looking hopelessly after him.

“Sometimes,” Jake pipes up, “ _I_ look at Sid’s ass. I’m really straight, but it’s just so… big? Like, how is it even so big? I try to look away, but sometimes I can’t. It’s just _there_.”

The room goes quiet. Jake makes a strangled noise, and turns distinctly green.

“Let me guess,” Horny says. “You didn’t mean to say that either.”

“All this talk about butts is reminding me that I was gonna ask my girlfriend if she’s into pegging,” Jamie blurts out, and that’s when they put two and two together and realize something really weird is going on.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

“I hate your tie,” Sid tells Dr. Vyas. “I don’t why but I do. I think it’s the colors. They’re bothering me.”

“Hm, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Dr. Vyas says, trying to hide his smile. “Don’t look so upset, Sid, I know it’s not your fault. This is clearly some kind of hockey curse. We’ve dealt with enough of those. And it’s not as bad as that one time half the team were toddlers for a week.”

 “So cute, but _such_ little shitheads,” Sid agrees. “I still want so many kids, though. So many. With Geno.”

 Dr. Vyas pats his shoulder and sighs at the horrified look on Sid’s face. “It’s okay, Sid. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?”

 Sid puts his head in his hands.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

The curse seems to work by making you say whatever you’re thinking instead of what you originally meant to say. The guys deal with it in different ways. Muzz walks around muttering things like “rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb” under his breath. Geno has retreated into Russian and hasn’t spoken English to anyone for three days. Tanger just doesn’t give a fuck, and Sid mostly just tries not to talk at all.

He doesn’t always manage it.

“I’m really sad. I hate this and I miss being able to understand what Geno’s saying,” he says mournfully to Dana Heinze, instead of what he’d wanted to say about adjusting the hollow on his skate blade.

“I deserve a raise for dealing with your disgusting lucky jockstrap,” Dana says in reply, with an apologetic look.

Which, fair.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Practice is okay. Sully is mostly the same except, weirdly enough, a little nicer under the influence of the truth curse.

Sid wants to throw up when he thinks about their next game, however.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

The refs have to be told, of course. Standard NHL policy is to disclose curses that can affect fair gameplay. And unless they want to install a damn revolving door on the penalty box to admit everyone who would otherwise get nailed for unsportsmanlike conduct, they need to let the refs know about the Penguins’ little honesty problem.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

“I want to take your fucking whistle and make you eat it.”

“Just keep skating, 58.”

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Dealing with the other team is a problem as well. Most of the guys just try to keep silent, which seems to be deeply unnerving the opposition,  but there’s a certain amount of verbal communication that just has to happen for a team to function successfully.

This results in poor Riley looking briefly up at his opponent during a faceoff and sincerely telling him that “wow, you have, like, super pretty eyes, bro. Same color as my girlfriend’s.”

“The fu—” says the player, and loses the faceoff.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

“I love you _so_ _much_ , dude!”

“Did you just… tell your captain you love him?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

“Why. Why the fuck did you pass to me, I don’t want the fucking puck right now, Guentzy! Fucking-FUCK-oof.”

The player who just checked Rusty into the boards passes the puck to a teammate and turns to wrinkle his nose at Rusty.

“The hell is up with your team, man?”

Rusty clamps his mouth shut and skates off.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Distracted and unable to communicate, they lose by three. It’s a grim locker room, and Jen looks around at them and grits her teeth.

“We can’t close the room to the media entirely, not without people asking too many questions. Try… try and be brief. Think about boring things. Game stats. Please. I wish none of this was happening and I wish I was at home, in yoga pants, having like three glasses of wine and watching Netflix while eating Thai leftovers.”

“Sorry, Jen. You scare me.”

“Thanks… for that, Muzz.”

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Jen, knowing how sensitive Sid is about his public image and the immense scrutiny he’s under, mercifully tells him he doesn’t have to talk to the media tonight. He just nods gratefully, knowing that if he opened his mouth he’d probably tell her he could almost kiss her feet right now.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

The curse has been in effect for a week, and Sid feels exhausted to his bones from the effort involved in dealing with it.

After practice, he walks into the player’s lounge, slumps into one of the armchairs and looks over at Geno who is sprawled across the entire loveseat, tapping away at his phone. When Sid sighs, Geno looks up and murmurs something comforting sounding in Russian. Sid looks at him, and he feels confident that for once, his thoughts are in line with what he wants to say.

“I miss you, G,” he says to Geno. Geno’s gaze goes soft, and he says something that sounds like he’s trying to reassure Sid. His tone is so intimate that Sid blinks. That’s not… exactly the way you talk to someone who’s just your bro. Geno’s face floods scarlet, and he glues his eyes back to his phone.

Sid is left feeling somehow lonelier than he did before.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Sid is under the impression that Geno maybe can’t speak in English at the moment, since he’s never done so to Sid, but this is shattered when he overhears Geno talking to a trainer after morning skate.

“Little sore, but just because I’m tired. Not bad.”

“At least I know you’re telling the truth this time. You’re a real pain in the ass to have as a patient sometimes, you know that?” the trainer replies.

“I’m not really feel sorry,” is Geno’s answer.

“Yeah, I know you don’t, you bastard,” the trainer says with a laugh. “Go on.”

Too late, Sid realizes Geno is leaving the room and he’s suddenly face to face with him in the doorway. Geno looks startled, and a little guilty. Sid just lowers his head and ducks into the room to get his shoulder looked at.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

Sid’s not a petty guy. One of his dad’s mantras when he was a thirteen-year-old kid getting slurs and abuse hurled at him from the stands during his games was “rise above it.” And the advice has served Sid well his entire life.

But he’s also not a saint. The next time he and Geno are in the same room together, he lets him have it. In French. Very terrible, rusty French.

“ _I’m so to anger with you,_ ” he says. “ _And hurting. Talking in English to people, but no English to me? I love you a lot years and it’s hurting to see. For a lot time, breaking my heart.”_ It feels cathartic. A safe release of years of pent-up pining and frustration.

Or. Mostly safe. Brass and Tanger are staring at him, open-mouthed. Sid glares at them, willing his gaze to say: “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Tanger’s eyes go soft. “ _Don’t worry, my friend,_ ” he says, also in French. _“I would never say anything if you didn’t want me to. Even though I think your suffering is heartbreaking and I’ve never wanted to meddle so badly in anything in my life.”_

 _“I won’t say anything either. I wish you all the luck in the world. Anyone would be lucky to be with you, I think,”_ Brass adds, because he may be new to the team but he’s so very kind.

 Geno blinks at him in confusion, and then looks to Tanger and Brass, who suddenly are _terribly_ busy strapping on pads and lacing up skates.

Oh, well, what do you know, so is Sid.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

They’re a morose group on the plane the next day, the typical laughter and noise missing as most of them sit silently. The usual card game is going on in the back of the plane, however. For once, it’s quiet enough that Sid can hear them talking. Mostly about the cards, before Jake, bless him, must be reminded of something he’s been stewing about. 

Sid’s pulled out one of his earbuds because the flight attendant was asking him something and catches the tail end of Jake’s rant.

“—Like, I know girls go for hockey players, right? We have a lot of money, we’re athletic. But like, what if I were just a regular dude? I’m kinda funny-looking. How do I know she likes me for _me_?”

Sid has to smile a little. Poor kid. There’s a quiet murmur of support from the other guys playing cards and Sid is glad to hear it. It sounds like normalcy.

“I lie awake at night sometimes,” Jake continues. “Wondering where I’ll ever find someone to love.” Aw.

And that’s when, clear as day, Sid hears Geno say: “I’m find Sid right here.”

What. The fuck.

There are some surprised noises from the other guys. Sid stays in his seat, staring straight ahead, heart pounding. It’s impossible for Geno to lie right now. And the context nixes any chance of it being platonic. He thinks maybe he should try to stop the borderline hyperventilating he’s doing.

“You know,” Phil is saying. “This makes so much sense? I mean, the whole total devotion thing you’ve always had going? Even the sports writers picked up on it. Very Lancelot and shit.”

“Guys!” Jake shriek-whispers. “Sid is literally right there??”

“He’s got his headphones in, I think,” Riley says. “I saw him put them in earlier.”

“Good,” Geno says, and Sid flinches.

“Why not… just tell him, G?” Jake says. “Like, he wouldn’t be a dick about it, and maybe it would make you feel better.”

Yeah, Sid thinks. Why? Is he… not worth having a relationship with?

 _“You idiots,_ ” Tanger groans, meanwhile. “ _You consummate pair of dumbasses. You deserve each other, I fucking swear to God._ ”  

“I wish you’d keep talking French,” Knuckles says. “It’s really hot. I had a weird sex dream about a threesome with you and your wife in those funky costumes you both wore to the Halloween party.”

“ _Osti de tabarnak de câlice,_ ” Tanger swears. “I hate. This fucking curse.”

The conversation is totally derailed and Sid spends the rest of the flight in a miserable fit of nerves, earbuds in, pretending to be asleep.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

When they land, Sid stalls in gathering his belongings so that he can leave after the group of guys who were playing cards. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, and he needs time to sort himself out.

He happens to look up, though, right as Geno is walking by. Geno’s glancing down at him, almost nervously, and Sid freezes, unable to do anything but just stare at him. Geno’s eyes widen as he realizes that Sid probably overheard. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then someone behind him grumbles at him to move his ass, and he turns and walks out of the plane. Sid closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.

“ _My friend_ ,” Tanger says to him, leaning over from the aisle. _“You should talk to him. Do it, or I’m calling Flower to make him tell you to do it.”_

The last thing Sid wants is to talk to Geno and get some kind of false hope before it’s squashed with whatever’s been keeping Geno quiet all this time.

Maybe just something similar to what’s been keeping you quiet, a small voice in his mind tells him. It sounds a lot like his sister. She always was able to call him on his bullshit.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Sid stews all through the process of getting on the charter bus, and driving to the hotel. After they’ve all been checked in and the keycards have been distributed, Sid’s finally able to flop on the bed and shout into a pillow for a minute.

They don’t have anywhere to be until morning skate tomorrow so he strips out of his suit and pulls on a worn 412 T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. He knows some of the guys will be heading out but he just can’t right now. He’s going to order room service and try to make himself eat. And then probably put on TV and stare at it while his thoughts go around in circles like a hamster in a wheel.

After putting in his order, he showers, mostly to have something to do, and then paces around the room, stares out the window, and fidgets with the TV remote in a neurotic little cycle. He… does this sometimes. Overloads, has his anxiety get too much to handle from time to time. He’s got to deal with this, before it gets to him badly enough that it’s going to affect his game tomorrow. He thinks maybe he’s past that point.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Sid hears the guys leave for dinner and relaxes a little. He gets a text from Horny asking if he’s coming to dinner, and informing him that Horny is worried about him, but also missing his wife, because of course the curse makes them write everything they’re thinking as well.

Sid just doesn’t answer.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

Sid’s halfway through mechanically shoveling in his room service meal when there’s a knock at his door. He frowns, wondering if something’s wrong or if maybe one of the coaches or the staff needs to talk to him. As far as he’s heard, the guys are still out at dinner.

He opens the door. It’s not one of the coaches. It’s Geno, shoulders hunched and looking miserable.

It’s out of his mouth before he can shut himself up.

“Is it because I’m not good enough? Is that why you never said anything?” Sid says. It’s a question from the furthest down, darkest corners of himself.

Geno looks gutted. “Sid, what? What you talking about?”

Sid’s blood runs cold. “Did I get it wrong? On the plane you said—” He stops talking, can only stare at Geno, eyes wide and beseeching. Willing Geno to understand so he doesn’t have to keep _talking._

“Sid,” Geno breathes, incredulous. “You think that? Think maybe anyone could think you aren’t good enough?”

“I think that,” Sid says. Damn this fucking curse to hell.

“Sid,” Geno says again, and then he—

Reaches out and takes Sid’s face in his hands. They’re so, so dark, Geno’s eyes.

“Listen to me,” Geno says. “Can’t lie right now, yes? So you know this what I think. You—” His voice breaks. “You best person I’m know. Nobody work harder, nobody have better heart. Love you, Sid. You hear me? I’m coward, that’s why I’m not say. Afraid I’m one that don’t deserve _you_.”

“I want you to kiss me,” Sid rasps, after a moment of stunned silence. With an incoherent, longing noise, Geno does. His mouth is just as soft as Sid had imagined, and his arms feel just as good wrapped around Sid’s body. Better.

Sid is so lost in Geno, and want, and _finally_ , that he doesn’t hear the rest of the guys when they come trooping back from dinner. He does hear the explosion of noise when they catch sight of Geno with Sid up against the wall, however.

“Oh my god,” he hears Horny say.

“That’s so hot.” Knuckles, of course.

 “Fucking finally,” Tanger practically yells.

“It’s like catching my parents going at it!” Jake cries.   

Sid takes one hand off of the back of Geno’s head to flip them off, and then to gesture sharpy down the hall in a “keep walking” gesture. He doesn’t give a fuck, because Geno’s moved on to his neck, and his knees are ready to give out, that’s how good it is.

He doesn’t pay attention to the scuffle of guys booking it to their rooms (or probably each other’s for gossiping, the fiends)  and instead leans up to bite Geno’s ear. 

“In, in,” Geno groans, and shoves Sid into his room. Sid goes, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

“I’m so fucking happy,” he says, and Geno has to kiss him hard again.

“Me too,” he murmurs into Sid’s skin, and bears him down to the bed.

 

_/\\__/\\__/\\__/\\_

 

The next morning, he and Geno head down to team breakfast together. There’s no use pretending they weren’t doing what they’d been doing last night, even if they weren’t under a truth curse. Sid’s got a hickey right under the hinge of his jaw, and Geno’s smug grin is speaking volumes all on its own.

“I called Flower,” Tanger says to them. “He says, and I quote, ‘Congrats on getting your heads out of your asses, fuckfaces.’”

Sid just laughs, and leans back into the arm Geno’s got wrapped around his waist.

“Poor Shearsy, rooming next to you guys last night,” Hags snickers.

“Didn’t hear a thing,” Shears says, then after a beat looks up, startled. “Dude. I think the curse is broken?”

“I love the Toronto media,” Phil says experimentally, then nods. “Definitely gone.”

There’s a noisy wave of excitement, and Sid just manages to overhear Reeser asking: “Soo… like, do they have to fuck _every_ time we get a curse or?” before Jamie shushes him.  

Sid just smiles to himself. He, for one, would be totally fine with that.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of thanks to [icosahedonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teljhin/pseuds/icosahedonist/), [secretsidgenowriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsidgenowriter/pseuds/secretsidgenowriter), and [werebear ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear/) for all the help <3 <3 <3
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me as [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) (hockey blog, where I'm most active) and [creaturesofnarrative ](http://creaturesofnarrative.tumblr.com/) (main) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] talk to me, baby](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040406) by [momopods (momotastic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momotastic/pseuds/momopods)




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